“Careful, bunny,” he warned, though his eyes sparked with heat. “Keep that up and I might forget about taking things slow.” He murmured, deliberately keeping his hands away from the release knot. “The choice is yours. Just like it’s always been.”
I looked down at the tab resting in my palm—the one he hadn’t touchedonce since placing it there. Something about that deliberate respect for my control made my chest tight. With a gentle tug, the rope slid away like water.
He took my hands then, massaging each wrist with careful attention, checking circulation one last time. “Perfect,” he praised. “You did so well tonight. Come lay with me?” he asked, rising and holding out his hand. When I took it, he led me to the massive leather sofa, settling into the corner and drawing me against his chest. His supernatural warmth and the heavy meal made my eyelids feel impossibly heavy.
“Stay,” he murmured into my hair, pulling a throw blanket over us both. It was soft as clouds against my skin.
I wanted to protest—I had work tomorrow, clothes to change, a dozen reasons to go home. But his heartbeat was steady under my ear, his fingers carding through my hair in a hypnotic rhythm. For once, I let myself just be held, just be cared for.
The last thing I registered before drifting off was his lips pressing softly against my temple, and the quiet whisper.
“Sweet dreams, my love.”
Chapter Twelve
Marked
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans for the third time in as many minutes, surveying my handiwork with critical eyes. The apartment looked nothing like its usual self. I’d pushed my worn furniture against the walls, making space for the makeshift pottery studio I’d assembled in the center of the room. Two pottery wheels sat on thick plastic sheeting, surrounded by milk crates I’d turned upside down to serve as tables. Clay tools, buckets of water, and various glazes were arranged with the same careful precision I used for my leatherworking tools.
String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a warm glow that was both romantic and practical enough to work by. I’d ‘borrowed’ them from Twyla’s holiday decoration stash, along with the small electric kiln that now hummed in the corner. It had taken some creative rewiring to make sure I wouldn’t blow a fuse, but the result looked...pretty damn good, actually. I surveyed the room, noticing the darker corners the string lights didn’t reach. With a subtle flick of my wrist, I sent three small orbs of blue light to hover near the ceiling, providing additional soft illumination. They looked natural enough to be mistaken for clever modern lighting fixtures, but would provide just the right ambiance. One settled near the Puerto Rican flag I’d thumb tacked above my workbench, illuminating its red, white, and blue pattern that was one of the few constants in each place I’d lived.
My phone buzzed with a text notification.
Kronos:Parking now. Need me to bring anything up?
This was the first time I’d planned anything for us. It felt significant, somehow. Like I was opening a door I kept firmly shut. It felt nice to have some control over the space for once.
Alex:Just yourself.
I glanced at the bottle of wine breathing on the counter—a decent red I’d splurged on after Twyla insisted that “Two Buck Chuck isn’t appropriate date wine, Alex, for God’s sake.” Next to it sat the cheese and charcuterie board I’d assembled with perhaps excessive care. YouTube tutorials had taught me how to fan apple slices and roll prosciutto into little roses. It looked almost professional, if you ignored the uneven cuts on the cheese.
A knock at the door sent my heart rate spiking. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I’d seen this man naked for god’s sake, and opened the door.
Kronos stood there in dark jeans and a forest green Henley that made his red hair look like burnished copper. He’d brought flowers—not roses, but a wild-looking arrangement of stems I didn’t recognize, tied with simple twine.
“For you,” he said, handing them to me with a small smile. “You’ve been busy.”
I stepped aside to let him in, hoping the glow from the string lights disguised my blush. “It’s nothing fancy.”
“It’s perfect,” he replied, taking in the transformed apartment. His eyes lingered on the pottery wheels, then shifted to me with amusement. “So this is why you’ve been so secretive.”
“I overheard Twyla talking about those wine and painting classes...and I thought, hey, why not?” I shrugged, aiming for casual despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. “Figured it was time I taught you something for a change.”
His smile widened at that. “I look forward to being your student.” There was something in his eyes—a warmth that made my chest tight. “Though I should warn you, I have no idea what we’re doing.”
I relaxed a fraction, setting the flowers in a mason jar of water. At least he’s not like a master already. That would have been a little embarrassing. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with you.”
His laugh was low, rich. “A novel experience.”
I poured the wine, handed him a glass, and gestured to the charcuterie board. “Food first? Or do you want to jump right in?”
“Let’s eat,” he said, accepting both the wine and a small plate. “I’m curious to hear how you learned this. It wasn’t mentioned in any of our...previous conversations.”
“Community center class when I was fourteen,” I explained, focusing on arranging food on my plate rather than meeting his eyes. “My mom thought I needed constructive ways to channel my energy. It was that or soccer, and I wasn’t exactly team sports material.”
“I can’t imagine you taking direction well,” he agreed, popping an olive into his mouth.
I snorted. “You’d be surprised what I can take when properly motivated.”
